


inside out

by whiplash



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 06:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: “Dodgy stomach, eh?” Paddy says. “Happen a lot, does it?”





	inside out

“Not another stomach ache,” Sandra complains, though her hand’s gentle as it comes to rest over his forehead. “At least you don’t have a fever.”

Aaron squirms away from her, backing out of the kitchen and away from the loaded breakfast table. Liv’s in her high chair, playing with a handful of dry cereal. Dad, he knows, has already left for work. Aaron had waited upstairs until well after he’d heard the door slam and the car start. 

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do with you,” Sandra sighs. “You’ll have to stay home from school again, I suppose, though your dad won’t be happy about it.” 

As if on cue Aaron’s stomach cramps, and he grimaces, pushing his fist into the swell of pain. 

Sandra sighs once more, but then she makes him tea and sends him back to bed. 

xxx 

“Skipping school again?” Johnny asks, grinning knowingly. 

Aaron shrugs, reaching out for the hand-rolled fag that the older boys have been passing between them. He doesn’t know what’s in it and he doesn’t care. His lunch’s still heavy in his belly and he’s spent the last few hours in the boy’s loo. His belly’s so sore and swollen that it hurts to sit and he’s grateful now for the chance to lean against the wall and just breathe. 

The other boys talk while Aaron stares out at the empty schoolyard and pretends to listen. 

xxx 

“What’s taking you so long?” Eli shouts, kicking hard enough at the door that the entire house rattles around them. “I’m pissing myself here!” 

Aaron doesn’t trust the damned door to hold the man away from him. And he certainly doesn’t trust Eli not to find some way in, be it by lifting the door off its hinges or just picking the lock with a butter knife. Hell, Aaron doesn’t even trust the Dingle house not to collapse on their heads if Eli keeps on kicking at the door. Cursing up a storm, he jumps to his feet and tugs up his trousers, stealing a short moment to lean against the sink as his insides twist and turn. 

Wiping his arm across his eyes, he then tears the door open and storms past the other man. 

xxx 

“Air freshener,” Pearl tells him, wrinkling her nose at him. “A few sprays does wonders, that’s all I’m saying.” 

Aaron stares back at her and imagines putting his hands on her scrawny neck and wringing it, just the way that he’s seen Liza do with the chickens. Paddy must be able to read his thoughts because he puts his giant paws on Aaron’s shoulders and tugs him away, stammering and muttering something to Pearl as they leave. 

“Dodgy stomach, eh?” he says later. “Happen a lot, does it?” 

Aaron pulls away from the unwelcome hands, putting some distance between them. 

“What’s it to you?” he demands. "Mind your own business, why don't you?" 

xxx 

Clyde whines pitifully outside the door. 

He doesn’t scratch though. Aaron’s trained him out of that, never once rewarding him by opening the door. Paddy taught him how to do that. How to train a mutt without ever raising more than his voice. Aaron had worried at first. Had steeled himself for the task, going out to that very first session with his shoulders hunched around his ears and his hands white-knuckling the leash. Had imagined Clyde whining and shying away from him, but Paddy had never once made him hurt the dog. 

“Go to your bed,” Aaron orders now through the closed bathroom door. “Go!” 

Seconds later he’s rewarded by the soft tap-tap-tap of claws against the floor. It’s nearly enough to make him smile. Nearly enough to take his mind off the cruel twisting inside his stomach. 

xxx 

Jackson’s upset again. 

His face twists with frustration, coming alive in a way that his body never will again. His eyes bulge and he’s red and sweating, spit flying as he shouts at the unfairness of it all. Hazel puts up a good front, she does, but she keeps blinking away tears and her hands shake as she stirs white powder into a glass of water. Aaron stands with his hands at his sides, nails digging into already calloused skin, and stares at the scene, waiting for it all to play out the way that it always does these days. For Jackson to tire of anger, and fall right back into a more quiet sort of depression. 

When his boyfriend’s finally asleep, sweat-damp hair clinging to his skull and tears to his eyelashes, Aaron finds his voice again. 

“What’s that for then?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the empty glass. 

“It’s for his stomach, love,” Hazel answers, her eyes on her son and her mind somewhere far far away. “It helps keeps the bowels moving, you know. Keeps him from getting constipated now that he’s so immobilized.” 

_Oh._

xxx 

Aaron hadn’t known that there was medicine for that. He hadn’t even known that other people had the same problem as him. Standing in the chemists in Hotten, staring at row after row of the stuff he feels like an absolute mug. How could he have missed it? 

_It’s because you’re just that stupid,_ dad’s voice tells him. _Stupid and useless and-_

_ _ “Hello,” a cheerful woman greets him. “How can I help you today?” _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ For a while, it sorta helps. _ _

_ _ Aaron gets to go more often, and it takes less time, and in the days in between his stomach hurts less. It gets easier to eat too, now that he doesn’t have to worry so much about the consequences. He takes seconds of his mum’s horrible lasagne and an extra slice of the pizza that he’s sharing with Adam. He thinks that maybe if it had all happened before – while Jackson was still whole and happy – it would have made him feel lighter. _ _

_ _ Now it just makes the rest of his life a bit easier to bear. _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ A few weeks after Jackson dies, Aaron runs out of laxatives. He sorta... forgets to buy more. _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ In France, the chemist cheerfully puts together a whole regiment of laxatives while giving him advice in broken English: _ _

_ _ “You must drink a lot of water and not eat so much bread, not so much cheese.” _ _

_ _ “Il faut qu'il mange des legume et fruits aussi,” the other chemist adds. “Les anglaise, ils ne sait pas les principes pour manger sain. Moins de saucisse et frites, et plus de fruits et legumes. Dit-lui, eh!” _ _

_ _ Aaron mutters a few words of thanks, grabs the plastic bag and hurries away. Ed’s waiting for him at the café down the corner. He’s already ordered two flat-looking croissants and coffee. Aaron stirs sugar into his café au lait, trying to pretend that it’s tea. _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ “Still having tummy problems then?” mum asks. _ _

_ _ She’s been pottering about in the kitchen, making tea and putting something in the microwave, while Aaron’s laid curled up on the sofa. He’s been pretending to watch Top Gear, but really he’s just focusing on his breathing while waiting for everyone to go to bed so that he can use the loo without anyone bothering him. _ _

_ _ Now he looks up, just in time for mum to hand him a cup of tea and a heavy fabric bag. He takes the first without spilling a drop but stares at the other with suspicion. _ _

_ _ “It’s a wheat bag for your stomach,” she tells him. “It’ll make you feel better, love.” _ _

_ _ She’s been desperate to take care of him ever since he got back. As if she wants to make up for the time that he’s been gone, or maybe even for all the time before that. Aaron sighs and puts the wheat bag over his belly. _ _

_ _ It doesn’t make any difference at all. _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ “I don’t bottom,” he tells Robert, pushing the other man up against the wall. _ _

_ _ The older man smells of expensive aftershave but underneath it, clinging to the soft skin of his neck, there’s the far more real scent of sweat and lust. Aaron sniffs at it, then darts out his tongue to get a taste of it. Robert shivers against him and, grinning, Aaron licks again, this time a broad swipe that makes Robert groan obscenely. _ _

_ _ “You mean you haven’t bottomed yet,” Robert pants because he’s a cocky little shit who seems to thinks that, somehow, he’s the exception to every fucking rule. Aaron sinks his teeth into saliva-wet skin and Robert mewls and bucks again. _ _

_ _ “No marks,” Robert orders moments later. “Now, let me-” _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ After Katie, it’s like his entire body shuts down. _ _

_ _ He can’t eat. He can’t sleep. He can’t do anything. _ _

_ _ In some ways, that feels like justice. _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ Aaron’s ankle snaps like a rotten twig and they give him morphine for the pain. _ _

_ _ “Now, morphine can make you constipated,” the doctor tells him. “So, I’m going to prescribe you some laxatives as well, alright?” _ _

_ _ Paddy’s there to give him a ride back to the village, and at the doctor’s words he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Aaron quiets him with a hard look. He’s already had a lecture from the doctor about eating right and exercising in moderation. He doesn’t need another lecture just now. Especially not about that. _ _

_ _ “Yeah, alright,” he tells the doctor. “Cheers.” _ _

_ _ The painkillers expire in their bottle. The laxatives don’t. _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ Dad returns and, in a matter of weeks, everything’s hurting so much that it’s hard to tell one pain apart from another. Aaron’s skin’s covered in cuts and burns and bruises, Aaron’s head is all mixed up, and he’s forgotten all about his belly aches. _ _

_ _ Or at least he has until he finds himself curled up in a hospital bed again. There’s an IV-line filling him up with fluids. The nurse tells him that there’s sugar in it, and important salts and minerals which the blood tests had shown he’s lacking. She asks him about his eating habits and he does his best to answer even though he knows that each answer gives away more than he wants to. He’s sort of scared that they’ll lock him away and throw away the key – even though they haven’t before, not even back when he’d tried to top himself – and he’s maybe even relieved when she starts asking about other stuff. _ _

_ _ “How about your bowels?” she asks, like she thinks it’s a perfectly normal thing to talk about with a stranger. “How often do you get to go to the bathroom?” _ _

_ _ “…once a week?” he guesses, even though at times like this, when he’s stressed and upset, the answer’s more like every ten days or so. _ _

_ _ From her expression, he can tell that he’s given the wrong answer. _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ “I’ll drive you,” Robert insists, and Aaron caves. _ _

_ _ With Robert, he always fucking caves and he hates that about himself even as he loves Robert for never giving up on him. Robert picks the music and it’s soft and girly but Aaron’s trying to be a better person these days so he only rolls his eyes once. He stares out the window even though there’s nothing much to see and he picks at his hands even though it doesn’t really help. _ _

_ _ Robert comes with him to the waiting room too, but that’s where it stops. _ _

_ _ “I’m going in by myself,” Aaron mutters, ducking his head, and, for once, Robert doesn’t object. _ _

_ _ Aaron sorts of regret it later, when he’s curled up on his side with his knees under his chest and a nurse’s hand on his shoulder. He’d refused the sedative at first, but then they’d tried without and he’d changed his mind. Now he thinks maybe he’s changing his mind again, because the sedative doesn’t help, it just makes him feel less in control as his body relaxes and the cold tube slithers its way into his body. _ _

The doctor talks, letting him know what they see on the camera, but Aaron can’t hear him over the buzzing in his ears. Over dad’s voice telling him to _be good_. 

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ “You’ve had these problems since you were a kid?” Rob asks. _ _

_ _ He’s using his gentle voice. The one which only gets dusted off and used on bad days. _ _

_ _ “I guess, yeah,” Aaron mutters, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. _ _

The doctors say that there’s nothing physically wrong with Aaron’s bowels. Not yet anyway. They gave him a brochure though with the long-term effects of constipation: fissures, piles, impaction, prolapse and worse. Reading the information made Aaron want to vomit. Just thinking about it he can feel bile pushing against the back of his throat and he regrets going to that meeting, regrets agreeing to the endoscopy, regrets ever opening his big stupid mouth in the first place. _Told you to keep your mouth shut,_ dad’s voice whispers. _Told you bad things would happen if you told anyone. But you never listen, do you? Never learn._

_ _ Reading that same brochure made Rob grim-faced and hell-bent on finding a way to fix things. _ _

_ _ “When exactly did it start?” he asks. “Before or after the divorce?” _ _

_ _ “I dunno,” Aaron says, lifting his hand to chew at the side of his thumb. “After, I suppose.” _ _

_ _ Rob hums thoughtfully, then reaches out to rescue Aaron’s fingers. _ _

_ _ “Did it start after your dad hurt you?” he asks, still holding on to Aaron’s hand. _ _

_ _ Aaron tears himself away. Feels himself overflow with anger born from fear and shame. _ _

_ _ “Not everything’s about him,” he snarls. “So, just, shut up, will you? Just… shut up.” _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ The answer to the question that Rob never asks again is: _ _

_ _ _Maybe. __ _

_ _ _ Probably. _ _ _

_ __ Yes._ _ _

_ _ xxx _ _

_ _ Robert Sugden’s a cocky little shit. So damned sure that he’s the exception to every rule. _ _

_ _ Aaron’s always known this, so he’s not really that surprised when Rob finds them a doctor who doesn’t just prescribe laxatives but also arranges for a meeting with a dietician specializing in constipation and with a therapist who has a lot of experience working with survivors of childhood abuse. And a year ago, three years ago, five years ago, Aaron would never have agreed to any of it. Would have told them all to do one before storming out and doing something stupid. _ _

_ _ But now he grits his teeth and he thinks of Rob and Liv and he goes through with it. He takes his medication, he keeps a fucking journal, he works with his breathing and his feelings and everything that life throws at him. _ _

_ _ And here’s the thing, it gets better. Not good. Never good. _ _

_ _ But better._ _

**Author's Note:**

> There’s not a ton of research to back this up, but at least a few studies have been published that examine the connection between childhood sexual abuse and chronic constipation. I ran across one of them in my line of work, and here we are. 
> 
> For some the whole subject might be *cringe*, but well... I don’t think that shame/stigma related to bowel movements really does anyone any good. (And probably a whole lot of people no small amount of harm.) Everybody poops and if you have concerns or questions about your poops, never hesitate to talk to a medical professional. That’s what we’re there for :)


End file.
